


make me breathe

by thirteenohtwo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-21 20:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirteenohtwo/pseuds/thirteenohtwo
Summary: Five times Jester heals Beau and one time Beau heals Jester.(And then Yasha does for real)
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Comments: 7
Kudos: 274





	make me breathe

**Author's Note:**

> pls, pls, pls cure my writer's block.

**1.**

The first time Jester heals her is not nearly cool enough, if you ask the tiefling. Brand new friends, she actually went out and made.  _ People _ , physical people that everyone else can see - not only did she go out and  _ meet _ them, she befriended them. Told them about her wicked cool magic that she got from her god, her god that she’s  _ best friends _ with. 

In all honesty, she kinda talked herself a big game. But she was looking forward to backing it up, to proving her worth to a man who can summon his weapon from nothing and a woman who literally turned her whole body into her weapon.

Not to toot her own horn or anything, but Jester’s magic is a  _ little _ more badass than that.

It’s just that… the first time she actually gets to show off, gets to do the magic only  _ she _ can do for them - the first time she gets to  _ heal _ one of her friends and cement her value to the group…

Is because Beau offends a rather drunken man at the inn. 

She has to summon her magic  _ not _ to heal wounds from an enormous snake that killed a sweet, innocent child.  _ Not _ because shifty, shady bandits tried to rob them and they were forced to fight them off.  _ Not _ even because of some cool… kind of weird sacrificial blood ritual to stop an old god, or something. She read it in a book once and it sounded  _ pretty _ badass, if you ask her.

The tiefling gasps, her hands shooting up to her face as the man’s big meaty fist connects with Beau’s nose, both she and Fjord flinching when they hear the crunch. For a second, Jester thinks the man hit Beau hard enough to make the sound echo - there’s a second, louder crunch and Jester’s eyes widen as the man’s face explodes with a red spray.

She watches their new monk friend follow her fist with her elbow in the  _ same _ second, watches her blue robes flare out as she twists with the momentum and comes around with the back of her other fist, and sends the man sprawling out on the floor. 

Three hits.  _ Maybe _ three seconds?! And the man is out cold!

“Oh my  _ gods _ , Beau!” Jester gushes as she stumbles forward and reaches for the shorter girl. Feels the wiry muscles beneath brown skin tense, flex as sharp blue eyes flick across her own face and falter. “That was so cool but we should heal your nose before it sets crooked!”

“Wha-”

Blue hands cup warm cheeks (oh,  _ wow _ , humans are warm. Okay, okay, okay) and Jester swipes the blood from Beau’s upper lip to get a better look. “He got you good,” she murmurs with furrowed brows and a scrutinizing gaze. 

“Was a lucky shot, I didn’t think he’d actually swing-”

“Stop moving! We have to set it right-”

“Wait, how-”

“Hold still!”

_ “Jester,  _ wait-!”

It’s less of a crack but more of a pop, mostly, but the crack has Fjord swaying and catching himself on a nearby table. Beau’s eyes widen and water with the explosion of painful tingles - like an excruciating sneeze, but then Jester’s finger glow a very faint green. Her thumbs massage the bridge of Beau’s nose and she watches the purple bruise slowly fade away.

Until it’s just the two of them standing in the middle of a small tavern - a tiefling cradling a human’s face, smiling brightly and proudly. “All better!” she breathes softly.

And Beau just… she won’t stop  _ staring _ at her. It’s weird and warm and, jeez,  _ why _ is Beau so warm? Is it the tavern? Why is  _ Jester _ warm now? “Thanks,” the monk mumbles.

“Oh, it’s no problem. I learned from - hey. Beau. You have  _ very _ blue eyes,” the words come tumbling out, she’s not sure why. She’s nervous, maybe. This wasn’t exactly the reaction she was expecting the first time she got to show off.

It’s maybe the wrong thing to say, though, because Beau sort of flinches. Pulls away from her and roughly wipes at her nose and the blood that’s left. “Pretty dope, how you did that. We should get outta here though, before he wakes up and causes more trouble.”

**2.**

"Oh, fuck!" Beau gasps and Jester maybe also gasps but they both stare down at the branch impaled through Beau's gut. "That can't be good, right?" she wheezes.

Of course it's not good! It's a  _ branch _ sticking through Beau's  _ gut _ and it's  _ very not good! _

But Beau, stubborn and refusing to take her own well being seriously, she just smirks. Admits all of this. She  _ smirks.  _

And Jester drops to her knees, she grabs around the branch and kind of just tries to hold everything still while her mind whirls. The gears grind, slowly starting to churn through the panic coursing through her, and she  _ glares  _ at Beau. "Why did you jump out of the tree?!"

"Uh, because it was on fire?!" Beau shoots back at her and grunts. Bites back a whimper as she presses her head back against the forest floor and wiggles beneath the tiefling. "Holy shit, can't you just pull it out?!"

"Obviously, I'm going to!"

"Why are you yelling at me?! I'm hurt! Where's Caduceus?!"

Jester has to swallow down the icy fear in her throat. She can see her harsh breaths puffing out in the air, can feel the goosebumps raise up along the monk's skin. "Because I'm mad!"

"Why?!"

(Because I'm scared.)

_ "Because you jumped into the burning tree to get across to me!"  _ she snarls and rips the branch from Beau's torso. She flinches, has to close her eyes at the warm spray of blood that flies across her nice and new dress, across her face and neck, and presses her hands down against the wound. 

(I can't lose you.

Who will warm me up?)

Bold, neon green magic that sparkles in the middle starts billowing out from beneath her palms. Seeps over Beau's hips and sides like a dense fog that soothes, and soothes, and soothes. She can feel Beau sag against the ground and listens to the way her breathing doesn't sound as wet or choppy anymore. "I was fine, Beau," she says, more calmly but firmly. Angry, still.

Furious, if she thinks too hard on it, and she tries not to. She knows Beau means well, that they all mean well. Sometimes she has to chant it in her head until her hands stop shaking, but she knows their intentions.

Blue eyes blink up at her. "I-I know."

"You don't have to  _ save _ me, none of you have to  _ save _ me. I won't break if someone hurts me."

"I know you won't, Jes," Beau says quietly. Softly. It's hard to hear just beneath the crackling, blazing fire of the tree above them. "But I might. I can't heal you."

Jester's hands still on the human's flushed skin, she notices the way muscles tense and jump beneath her touch and if she looks any closer, she can see the blush starting to work its way up Beau’s neck. Jester swallows again, but this time it isn't frozen terror lodged in her throat, it's her own heart. Her heels dig into her butt as she sits back, sinks back as she stares down at her friend. 

The glow of flames reflect back in the blue of Beau’s eyes, makes them shine like sapphires. And she wonders what Beau sees when she looks at her like that, wonders what it might look like with an inferno blazing behind her. Wonders if Beau can see the tightness in Jester’s eyes or hear the panic in her voice, the desperate anger that only thinly veils her fear. 

Someone calls for them and Jester blinks just as Beau looks away. She turns - realizes she’s straddling Beau’s lap, and squints against the brightness of the fire raining down around them. “We’re here!”

Beau sits up beneath her. Shakes her head, shakes the distraction from her mind and Jester watches the focus sharpen in her gaze.

Back in the fight again.

**3.**

Being a cleric is harder than people think. Maybe because any cleric beside Caduceus would find themselves feeling… lacking - he's very good at healing people. It's, like, second nature to him and, listen, okay, Jester can heal but she’s a  _ Trickster _ cleric. She has all of these super cool, super badass damage spells and just standing there healing people isn’t as  _ fun. _

She learned how to do magic to have  _ fun _ . And help people, you know, after she found out she could do that too. And she likes helping people, she does! It’s just… not as much her thing. 

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when Nott pokes fun or when people wander over to Caduceus  _ any _ time they need healing, even if the fight is over. She was their healer first and sometimes, if she’s being open and honest - with herself, at least… it kind of feels like maybe they forget about her in that regard.

Like they’ve forgotten that when everything was new and scary, when they couldn’t do the things they can now, when monsters were still scary and fearsome…  _ she _ picked them back up.  _ She _ kept them going.  _ She _ saved them. She took care of them, looked after them, and-

“Jes! Jes, Jes, Jes, Jessie, shit, fuck!” Beau groans as she wobbles over to the tiefling, cradling her hand against her chest.

Nobody can ever say Beau has bad timing.

Pushing the smile, Jester turns and holds out her hands for Beau’s, gasping when she sees the bloodied, mangled mess of the monk’s knuckles. “Beau! What did you do?!” She lifts Beau’s hand to inspect the damage more closely, can see the chewed up skin and bone peaking through the blood - she feels her stomach churn and her dinner threaten to come rushing back up.

“I punched a tree.”

“?!”   
  


Beau shrugs sheepishly at the noise and face Jester makes, wincing as it jostles her arm and hand. The cleric holds more firmly, narrows her eyes as she keeps Beau still. “A lot. And very fast - it was a dare, Nott was drinking and boasting, and - Jes, can you fix it?!” she whines and tugs - gasp as her eyes widen and she goes still. 

“Of course I can fix it, I’m a healer, Beau, that’s what I do. I’m a very  _ good _ healer, my magic is very nice. It tickles, you know. Caduceus’ is just warm, mine actually tickles,” Jester rambles under her breath. “And, you know, not that I don’t  _ love _ Caduceus and the way he does things,  _ but _ I do some pretty cool healing.”

Beau’s been nodding along idly, her brows tugging together in that weird concerned-dissecting way she often does, usually around Jester, but sometimes around Caleb, too. “Jes, is there something you need  _ \- oh.” _

Her smokey, green magic curls out from between her lips just before she lightly blows it across the top of Beau’s knuckles and. And maybe she wasn’t being  _ totally _ honest, because it  _ does _ tickle but it’s also  _ very _ warm. She can feel the heat in her cheeks, tells herself it's just from the magic, nothing else. They both watch the skin on Beau's knuckles stitch back together seamlessly, they watch the heavy bruising in her hand disappear and clear up like it was never there in the first place. 

And. Jester watches Beau's throat tighten as she gulps, glances up to see the human's pupils dilate and try to overtake the blue.  _ It's just the magic. Nothing more. _

**4.**

"C-close the door," Beau chokes out. Her arm is hooked around Jester's shoulders, the other flexing with how tightly she grips her staff and uses it to hold her weight. She tosses her head back, squeezing her eyes shut as her ribs ache and dig into her with every step.

It's almost impossible to hear her past the chaos around them but Jester does or maybe just senses what she wants, the tiefling kicks her foot back to slam the door shut  _ just _ as the beefy grey arm shoots inside and grips the wall.  _ "Fucking shit!" _ she screams and  _ shoves _ back against the door, listens to the bones in the arm crack. "Beau, run!"

Her boots skid on the dusty floor as the beast slams its weight against the door, trying to shoulder in after them. She can barely make out the sound of Nott's shriek across the alley and hopes they've killed theirs and can help. Her eyes flick back to the middle of the room where Beau leans against the table, her heart seizing in her throat.

Beau looks… pale. Blood still seeps from her chest, it still drips readily from the tips and corners of her belt and Expositor vest, making little coin sized puddles around her feet. Her eyes are closed - hair messy and fallen from the bun, in her bloodied face and casting ominous shadows. Shoulders swaying just slightly, the knuckles on her hand gripping the staff going white. Jester can see the way her body hitches each time she breathes in - can hear the wet wheezing and thinks (knows, oh Traveler, she knows) that one of the bones punctured a lung. "Go, Beau!" she begs and jams her heels into the grooves of the wood as the arm claws at the wall.

Beau sways forward, more flatly on her feet, leaning her weight on her staff. "Not leaving you," she grumbles, even as she weakly wipes the blood from her mouth. "Move."

"Beau, I said  _ go!" _

Blue eyes blaze - Beau burns, always burns against Jester's chill. Against the bite of frost that is Jester's anger. "I'm not leaving you! I promised!"

"That's not what I meant!"

(This isn't a hag.

This is her  _ life.) _

Beau drops her staff and rolls her shoulders. "Let him in."

"Are you cra-"

"Jes." Beau slams her fists together and Jester flinches back as the bright arcs of electricity shoot between the monk's fists and dance along her arms. "Let him in."

She breathes deeply, nodding only once and waits for Beau to ready herself before stepping aside. She has  _ one _ spell slot left, the one she's been desperately holding onto for her monk - her bloody warrior that surges forward. Beau shoots her fists out and Jester saves it, tucks the image away so she can recreate it later.

So she'll never forget the way the lightning arcs from Beau's fists into the chest of the beast, how it lights up the blue of her eyes like the heart of a storm (and Jester gets it, she does, she  _ sees _ why Yasha would be drawn to that, drawn to another type of storm). Electricity crackles between her fingers and through her hair, surging from the monk and hitting its mark like a bullseye. 

The beast roars and rears up as its skin is scorched. Hatred burns in its eyes and Jester steps between it and her monk, her friend,  _ her _ Beau. 

And raises her hand as the Magician's Judge comes splitting through between its lungs, splattering the two if them in a spray of green blood. The roar is cut short into a garble and the beast stumbles forward only once before it drops to the floor of the house, and they see Yasha standing behind. She wipes the blood from her face and sort of relaxes, let's her shoulders drop to give them a little wave from her hip.

Jester reaches up with her other hand to wipe the gross yuck from her own face on her dress, and huffs. "He exploded!"

"Only a little," Yasha replies softly. Apologetically. "The others didn't. Maybe it was the lightning." She leans to the side - trying to get a better look at Beau, Jester assumes. "Wasn't Beau in there with you?"

Jester's head tilts and she glances over her shoulder before something hard is jabbed against the back of her thigh and Beau's staff topples against the floor again. The human stares up at her with a bloody grin and her own wave. "Hey, yeah, I think I'm dying."

"You're not dying if you can talk, you big baby," Jester murmurs as she sinks to the floor beside her friend. Takes extra care to tease and keep the tremble of fear from her fingers as she feels along a crushed ribcage. "You still have most of your ribs, even."

"Oh, well in that case just hand me a bandaid and let's roll."

Jester rolls her eyes, flinching when Beau's hand - warm and slick with her blood, grips at her jaw. "What are you doing - stop squirming, why can't you ever just be  _ still?" _

"I wanna touch your face, I'm dyin'."

"Okay, but you're not-"

"Who said that? Jes? Is it you? Where's your face?"

With an exaggerated sigh, Jester smooshes Beau's palm against her cheek if only to keep her still so she can heal the girl. She tries to keep the playful moment light, tries not to think of  _ why _ Beau might be acting so silly. If she's maybe also trying to distract Jester or if she's woozy from all the blood she lost.

Whatever. It doesn't matter.

Not when she can feel the bones in Beau's chest snap back into place, and  _ she _ reaches up to cradle the side of Beau's face in her free hand. Tries to comfort her as her body breaks even more before it can heal. Each snap earning a muffled, pained grunt from Beau, until Jester can feel the hot tears spilling down over her cheeks - knows her smile went from teasing to watery. 

With one last pulse of healing magic, Jester presses her palm flat against Beau's ribcage before pulling away - she marvels at the blast of sparkles that chase off the billowy green smoke, at the way Beau gasps in a strong lungful of air as she jolts up and Jester has to all but catch her in her arms. "You're okay!"

"I'm okay!" the monk agrees with another wheeze. Her hands clutch at Jester's shoulders, her eyes staring wide at the cleric like she always does every time Jester heals her. Some kind of awe in there, tinged with some kind of vulnerability.

And sitting there, in a mess of Beau's blood and the monster's blood, with the beastly carcass not two feet away, Jester realizes that Beau is always snapping or grumbling at Caduceus each time he heals her. Like she's embarrassed or… defensive.

Beau doesn't like people healing her.

_ Beau seeks Jester out for her healing. _

**5.**

There's something very tranquil, very soothing about the sound the wheels of a cart make against a gravel road. It's weirdly comforting to Jester, with the little bumps and vibration she gets sitting on the back, letting her feet dangle just above the road as they go. 

She misses it, sometimes. These days they hardly travel by wagon - Caleb can teleport them all over the map, not to mention Essek. And once they get there, they're usually racing off on foot or by horse.

They don't get casual travel like this anymore. A long day beneath an endlessly blue sky, the sun beaming down on them, surrounded by fields of green on lone roads as far as the eye can see. Jester takes a deep breath, fills her chest with the peaceful countryside air as she basks in this precious moment.

Caduceus sits up front with the reins of the cart, mumbling to the horses now and then. His voice is as gentle as the breeze and wraps around the Nein like a comforting blanket. Fjord sits pressed against the front of the cart in the middle, his back against the wood below the firbolg, his eyes shut. She’s not sure if he’s meditating or not, she knows he’s been trying more and more lately, but his lips also curve up in a smile now and then. 

Maybe, she thinks, actually, that Caduceus might just be the best thing to ever happen to Fjord. And life is funny, how things just kind of fall together - who might Fjord be, if Molly never… if he never left, and if they never sought out help. If Beau and Caleb and Nott never wandered into the woods. 

Who would they all be, without Caduceus’ voice of  _ good _ that he brings to a group so busy running and trying to protect each other that they sometimes forget the effect they have on the world?

She looks over her shoulder at Caleb with his nose stuffed in a book, as it always is. At Nott who sits, cradled between his knees as she stares up at the clouds above them. Her little green hand reaches up sometimes to trace something in the sky, her lips move soundlessly as she thinks. Two people so content to simply exist near one another.

Jester sighs softly, lets the warmth unfurl in her chest, and looks out at the road behind the cart. Where Yasha and Beau follow on foot. Beau’s gaze, always sharp, always alert, sweeps across the horizon every now and then. Traces the flightpath of the birds in the sky, while Yasha stares down at the flower crown in her hands. Strong fingers that have carved down man, monster, and devils alike - now they fumble to twist grass and stem and vines together, they try not to smother the little pink flowers she tries to weave together. 

It’s, well, quite the sight. Yasha is made up entirely of opposition and Jester treasures moments like these, quiet moments where she can truly appreciate the warrior’s intricacies. 

Purple eyes bump across the gravel road and flutter when she catches Beau watching her - when she realizes Beau caught  _ her _ watching them. She grins and lifts a hand to wiggle her fingers, watches the monk fight her own smile before caving in a giving her a two finger salute. 

But she keeps looking, and Jester keeps looking, and they just stare at each other as the world marches on. Something in Jester’s chest thuds firmly and - and she makes a face, she thinks, because Beau’s eyes trace her lips and her brow furrows (she dissects, analyzes, always quick, always reading - people and books).

“C’mere!” the tiefling says brightly and slaps the wood beside her with a hearty thump.

Beau picks up her feet, easily catches up to their leisurely pace, and spins as she hops up. “Ah, fuck!” she hisses and lifts a hand to her lip, pulling away to look at the spot of blood. “That was dumb.”

“You can run up walls, Beau,” Jester laughs and reaches out to gently grab Beau’s chin. Turns her face this way to inspect her slightly swollen lip. “How did you bite your lip?”

She lifts and drops her shoulders in a loose shrug. "I 'unno, I was distracted."

"Looking at me?"

"You're very distracting. All those chains and bells in your horns, your glittering chest," she idly motions towards the tiefling, her chin still clutched in a blue hand. "It's a lot."

"Too much?" Jester wonders.

"Nah. Never."

"Not enough?" she asks this time.

And Beau hesitates. Her eyes flick between Jester's - a guarded vulnerability again. She fidgets, Jester can feel it and maybe see it out the corner of her eye but she can't look away from Beau's gaze. Afraid that if she breaks it, Beau will pull back. In every sense. 

So instead she gently swipes her thumb beneath Beau's bottom lip, memorizes the way her eyes flutter and her breath hitches. Jester summons her healing magic, feels the sparkling energy between her lips and leans forward to press them against the monk's. 

The slight swelling goes away, she can feel it. Can taste the copper tinge to their kiss and finds that, um, actually, she really,  _ really _ likes that. Thinks about all of the bloody smiles Beau has given her after a battle, and feels that thump in her chest again.

When she pulls away, Beau's eyes are closed and her cheeks are dark. Jester presses her thumb against the human's bottom lip to gently tug it down, just double checking that the cut is gone, and smiles.

_ "Sah," _ Beau sighs out and clears her throat - Nott’s ears twitch in Jester’s peripheral vision, and Jester recognizes the language even if she doesn't know it. But her face lights up, she  _ adores _ the embarrassed cringe Beau gets as she looks away to shoot a panicked scowl in Nott’s direction. "So… that was, uh, thank you for…"

Leaning back on her palms, Jester savours the moment and let's her gaze drift back out to the road. "Oh, no problem, Beau!" she replies just as Yasha ducks her head and stares harder at her flower crown, her pale cheeks a soft pink.

**1.2**

Their days are chaotic. 

Full of chaos and fear, of death-defying acts of heroism, and stomach churning, morally disputable decisions. Their days are full of fighting - monsters and people, and sometimes each other, sometimes a disagreement that ends in sour looks until one or the other reaches out hours later and all is forgiven again. She likes that, the forgiving part, not the arguing part. That's acidic and bitter but she likes they can do that, go through that, and end the day in sweetness and smiles. She used to be afraid of fighting with them. That they might never forgive and just leave.

But nbody leaves.

Their days are chaotic, but their nights?

Their nights are otherworldly. 

Their nights consist of cushions and bed rolls piled around a fire, everyone's face awash in the soft glow of the flames. Stories being told some old, some painful, but many new ones - ones they all created together, that they all lived, told through another perspective. Something missed before but shared later - the way Nott saved Caduceus with a well placed shot that not even  _ he _ noticed. Caleb's obliviousness to the way the large mercenary woman was so boldly trying to flirt with him.

Their nights are full of family and laughter and full bellies. And Jester has never been so  _ happy _ in her life, so  _ content _ . 

She misses her mama, she does, she wishes that she could bring her with them on nights like these. The sting of being homesick never truly fades, but she could never bring herself to regret leaving, she could never trade  _ this _ . 

She thinks her mama would understand, if she could see the Nein as Jester does. With their guards lowered, not trying to be responsible and proper for the Ruby of the Sea. 

Jester tilts her head back against Yasha's chest to angle her face up and try to peer at the Xhorhasian. The light of the fire reflects back in vibrant pools of blue and purple that crinkle with a smile as she listens to Fjord's story. Her forearm rests atop her propped up knee, fingers tangled with Jester's, drawing idle patterns on the back of an impossibly soft, blue hand. 

"Okay, fuck, I got it," Beau grumbles and leans back on her knees to stretch her back until something pops. "Tourniquets can get fucked, this is so difficult."

Jester looks back down from Yasha to where Beau kneels between her legs, hunched over as she wraps up the scrape along Jester's arm. "Well, you did a  _ very _ good job and I'm glad you knew how because I definitely don't."

"Sorry I used up all my spell slots," Caduceus says again, his ears flicked down. Jester wants to coo at how sad he looks but Fjord leans against his side until the frown softens out. 

"Besides," the orc muses with a toss of his hand in their general direction. "We wouldn't have gotten this superior tourniquet making lesson if you had."

The monk doesn't look up as she checks over the wraps one last time, she merely lifts her hand to flip him off. 

Caleb chuckles and shakes his head. "Who knew there was so much cursing in the ritual?"

"You want some of this?" she asks as she aims it his way.

This time Jester does coo and she leans up to cup Beau’s pouting cheeks and drag her in for a kiss. “Don’t listen to them, I enjoyed it lots and lots,” she promises.

(She can’t even feel the gash anymore, with how tenderly Beau dressed it.)

She falls back against Yasha again and opens her arms for Beau to sink against her, adjusts until the monk sighs and curls into her. Yasha’s hand comes down to rest against Beau’s back, to drag her fingertips up and down the human’s spine and try to lull their jittery monk into a less restless state. 

It doesn’t take long, not after their day. The energy around the fire quiets, and quiets, and quiets until Beau is snoring loud enough to scare off any creatures who dare wander too close, followed by a slightly softer snored echo from Caduceus. Fjord loses his own battle against sleep as he sits there with his forehead resting on his knee, no doubt to be sore in the morning. 

Nott passes out shortly after that, after daring Jester to draw dicks on his green green face, with her head resting on Caleb’s lap. And Jester follows shortly after, falling asleep mid debate of whether or not she might actually draw on him. 

Only Caleb and Yasha remain awake, unvoiced volunteers to take first watch. His eyes are gentle and kind when she glances up at him, reaching out to drag her glowing fingers along the cut of Jester’s arm.

“Not a fan of tourniquets either?” he asks quietly. 

The light fades as Jester’s wound heals, and she tucks her hand between the sleeping girls. Pressed between them, feeling them breathe in and out, knowing they’re there. Close.  _ Safe. _ “It was a good tourniquet. Perfect, actually. Better than our - well, nobody in the tribe could wrap them that well.”

“I understand.” He sniffs and looks around the group, shifting in his spot until he remembers that Nott is sleeping on him, and settles back again. “I am happy for you, Yasha. You deserve… ah, you deserve your happiness.”

Her gaze drops and drags across the tiefling and the human, how easily they fall together. How easily they fall against her. Once upon a time she would have argued that, would have pushed them away, pushed  _ this  _ away. But now?

Oh, now, how tempting it is to cave in and believe his words. She might.

She might.

_ (She does.) _


End file.
